


the world is watching

by ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, allusions to mild panic attack(s), angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Orwellian stuff, the way Louis feels like his skin is crawling with it, with the knowledge that they’re not alone.</p><p>(Louis finds it hard to deal with their lack of privacy sometimes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world is watching

**Author's Note:**

> so so so overwhelmed by the response to my last fic, thank you to everyone who's read it
> 
> this is just a short one i wrote because i wanted harry comforting his boy <3

Louis can feel the lens of a camera on him like a physical eye. It sends prickles up his spine and makes his fingers twitch—itching for a cigarette. He’d have one, too, if it wasn’t for Harry next to him. Which is, of course, where the problem starts in the first place. There weren’t supposed to be any cameras.

Harry’s realised it, too; he’s stiff and silent, just like he never usually is when he’s with Louis. They’re only just outside the house—the one the paps aren’t meant to know about, the one that’s meant to be _theirs_ —with Bruce and Tess on leads. Normally they don’t walk the dogs together, but it’s such a nice day that Louis had insisted on coming out with Harry. It was going to be just a quick trip around the park and then home, and neither of them had even considered that there would be a camera. Watching them.

It’s Orwellian stuff, the way Louis feels like his skin is crawling with it, with the knowledge that they’re not alone. It’s six o’clock in the morning, sun just beginning to creep out and bathe the greenery in light and warmth. Despite the heat, Louis starts shaking. He knows Harry will be sweating; they’re funny like that, how they complete each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Bruce starts barking and Louis shudders at the sound, panic rolling through his body.

"Can you tell where they are?" he grits out, clenching his jaw and his fists around Bruce’s sparkly pink lead.

"Over by the pond," Harry says. "Might have been taking nature shots, I don’t know, but it’s pointed at us now."

Louis follows his gaze to the pond, where there’s a black, sleek eye on a tripod, pointed straight at them. It’s far away, over the other side of a considerably large body of water, but Louis knows that a professional photographer won’t be deterred.

"Do we keep going, or make it look like we’ve got something to hide?" Louis asks. He drags his foot through the dry, crumbly mud peeking through the grass.

"They’ll kill us if we’re in the papers tomorrow," Harry says.

"That’s not an answer."

"I don’t have an answer," he snaps. "We don’t know who that is over there. Maybe they won’t sell the photos. Maybe they will."

"I think they will," Louis says, decisively.

"You want to leave."

"We could call the boys. Make it look like a group outing."

"With the dogs?" Harry sounds sceptical, but also strained. He’s standing rigidly, lips pressed in a tight line.

"I could call El," Louis suggests.

"No."

"I’m just trying to come up with a solution, here. It’ll look less suspicious if El turns up, you know it will. Otherwise it looks like…"

"It looks like what it is."

"Haz, I don’t like this any more than you do. We haven’t got very many options. If I call Eleanor, now, she can be here in ten minutes. She’s still staying in London from last week’s stunt, isn’t she?"

"I wouldn’t know," Harry says, voice laden with ice.

"Do you want me to call our handlers? You know they’ll want to do the same. The only other option is to pay our photographer off."

"This is our _thing_ , Lou. This is where we live, this is our park, these are our fucking dogs. I don’t want you pretending that it’s yours and Eleanor’s, because it’s not. I’d rather pay up than give her another part of you."

"You’re being dramatic." Louis knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but he’s desperate. "Anyway, we’ve been standing here for long enough, now. They know something’s up."

Normally, like this, they can go undetected. Harry's got his curls all tucked up in a baseball cap, one of Louis' tank tops stretched over him, sunglasses shielding his eyes. Louis' never needed to hide his appearance so much; he's less likely to be recognised. Slowly, Louis bends down to let Bruce off the lead, motioning for Harry to do the same for Tess. They start yapping right away, running around in circles. It would be cute, but Louis feels like there are needles pricking his skin all over and he can't concentrate.

It's not the worst thing that could happen, he knows. It isn't like a sex tape's been leaked, or someone's caught them doing something explicitly romantic, or sexual. They're just in the same place, at the same time. If worst comes to worst, they can pass it off that they ran into each other. It's implausible, and he's aware that most fans will see through it in an instant, but there needs to be a solution. Otherwise, there'll be lawsuits or consequences of some sort. More sanctions on the time he and Harry can publically spend together. Another nasty tweet, something like that. Covering their tracks, like guilty men.

"I could just hold your hand," Harry says.

"You know why we can't do that. Look, we just need to...they can't even prove it's us, probably...they can't..."

"Lou, babe, don't panic." Harry goes from closed off to concerned in an instant, because even though they both hate the lack of privacy, Louis is worse. Sometimes Louis forgets to breathe because he feels like he's being watched _all the time_ , and Harry has to hold him and stroke his hair and tell him it's okay. "It's gonna be fine. It'll get sorted out. Do you need to go home?"

"Fuck," Louis breathes. In, out. "Fuck, 'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Do you want to go home? We can, they'll sort it out soon. I'll call Di now if you want, she'll get it sorted." He's already got his phone out and is dialling the number of one of their managers (one of the ones Louis doesn't frequently want to punch) before Louis can speak. "Diana, hi, it's Harry. No, no, everything's fine, except...well, we went out this morning with the dogs, y'know. And now there's someone taking photos of us from across the pond, and, um, we're not quite sure what we should..." Harry listens for a moment, nodding along. "Right, okay, thanks. No, sorry to wake you up so early. Bye."

"She wants us to go home," Louis says, before Harry's even hung up.

"She does. Wait it out for a bit."

"That's a shit plan."

"I agree. She's trying her best, though. There's not much else we can do. There'll be a meeting later where we can discuss it."

"Fine, okay." Louis whistles for the dogs, who come loping back, covered in mud from the bank of the pond. They clip them both back into their leads, turning around to make their way back home.

"Hey!" the voice is distant, but loud. It's definitely coming from their photographer. They're running, leaving their camera set up on the far bank of the pond (which is, frankly, irresponsible) towards Harry and Louis. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually they catch up, panting. "Hey, sorry about that. I'm Madeline."

"Right," Louis says, coldly.

"I suppose now wouldn't be the best time to say that I'm a big fan and really love you guys," Madeline responds.

"It's always nice to meet a fan," Harry says. Louis resists the urge to glare at him.

"I'm sorry about the pictures. I didn't even realise who you were, at first, the composition of the shot just looked nice, and then I zoomed in a bit..."

"And saw two fifths of One Direction," Louis says.

"Yeah. And, like, I'm a nature photographer, but I've done my fair share of work with people, and I know tension when I see it. It's all over you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I swear." Bruce starts rubbing against Madeline's leg, barking. Traitor. "I'll delete the pictures if you want. Or do I have to sign a secrecy clause or something?"

***

Two hours and a contract later, Madeline is out of their lives forever, and so are early morning dog walks to the park.

"It was irresponsible," they're told, at least eight times. As if venturing outside their homes is like going up over the trenches: reckless. They're bound to get shot. Louis gets a pounding headache halfway through the morning, styrofoam cup of tea clutched in both his hands and leg twitching. When they're finally told they can leave, the stress is written all over their faces and posture.

"I hate this," Louis says, back at home. He's still shaking.

"I know, love," Harry says. He's in the kitchen, making them both another cup of tea. Louis' sat at the breakfast bar, fingers drumming an anxious beat into the granite countertop. "It's all okay now, though."

"We need to stop being so reckless." He's repeating the words that had filled him with white hot anger before; he's letting them come out in a dead tone, like he's a machine you can press a button on to say the right thing.

Harry pours out the water from the kettle before he speaks. "We had no way of knowing a fan would be there today. Don't blame yourself." He passes Louis his tea.

"Why aren't you scared of getting caught?" Louis asks, gulping down his drink even as it burns his tongue. "Why doesn't this _affect_ you? You act like everything's going to be okay, but if something like this happens again, except it's with someone with their iPhone who can just upload it to Twitter in an instant, we'll be fucked. We'll always be 'that band with the gay ones'. We agreed to do it gradually, to make sure it's done _right_..."

"Louis..."

"...and you're ready to let all of that be undone in a second? _Fuck_." He's trembling violently, now, and Harry surges forward to cover both his hands with his own.

"Shit, I'm so sorry." Harry sounds worried, fingers fumbling to link with Louis'. "I just want you to be okay. I should've let you call Eleanor, if that's what you needed... I should've..."

"Haz, don't..." Louis exhales shakily. "Don't do this. You'll make me feel guilty for yelling at you."

Harry grins at him, squeezes his hands. "I'm very delicate, Louis, you should always feel guilty for yelling at me. Look, I know you hate me babying you, but it's just because I hate seeing you upset."

"I just want it to be over," Louis says. "I just want to stop feeling scared to go outside with you."

"I know, babe. I love you."

"Love you, too." He leans his head into Harry's chest, breathing through his nose. "You make me feel safe."

Harry hums in response, fitting his head on top of Louis'. Louis relaxes into the embrace, and when after a few moments Harry picks him up and carries him into the living room, he doesn't protest, like he normally would. Harry gets them both arranged on the sofa, Louis small in his arms. Curled up on top of his boyfriend, Louis is able to let his mind go blank for the first time that day, kissing Harry's neck and drifting off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> there you go! the most cliché ending ever! i'm a disappointment! 
> 
> (pls go follow me on tumblr at oopshidaisy  
> i'm so alone there  
> also on twitter i'm Ellie_Hopes)
> 
> kudos and comments are always very much appreciated x


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